The tale of The Little Good Heart
Thus we say that the heart speaks, that it hurts, that the heart rules, or that we must act from the heart. In this Disneyheart in which our heart has eyes and tiny legs, where it smiles us with a SpongeBob face when we obey his alleged orders, and depressed (of course, because he's all sensitivity), when we act on our own; in this red Smurf Village there is also a Gargamel.
The bad guy in the film is a cold and calculating (two inseparable adjectives which, in fiction, unlike reality, are almost invariably linked to evil) character, arrogant and aloof, deformed and viscous, and with an unhealthy grizzly colour, far from the noble and florid appearance of the heart. This is obviously the brain. The brain, which lives in an ivory tower (hence the metaphor almost succeeds), without listening to anyone, without equate with anyone, no empathy whatsoever, ignorant, above all, of its remoteness from the "real world".
Each chapter of this children's series, each one of the anecdotized recommendations which our culture’s propaganda daily imposes on us, is a new battle between these two immortal characters, in which the improvement of the world depends on the heart overcoming the despotic prevailing brain.
Things go wrong for a very clear reason: the brain has extended his power over them and arranges them in his unnatural way. The brain has a flaw: He thinks everything. Every time he thinks something he leaves on it the imprint of his meanness. The brain touches everything and makes everything become impure. The world is beautiful, nature is extremely varied and colorful, but the brain wants to change it, be part of its merit, being its creator, and when he tries to he only manages to kill off its spontaneity and bright colours. The brain, in his obsession, makes everything become sad, turns everything grey, makes everything become equal.
The heart has the ability to restore the natural world, and that is his daily work. For it he has many resources. As befits any good hero, his wit allows him to react with solutions to the complex machinations of the brain. The brain is industrious, conscientious, persistent, thorough, but the heart has the creativity of genius, and often manages to prevail by a skilled raid. This ability to get things back on track, to restore the natural order, is the best proof that he acts on the side of good. While the brain distorts reality to make it his, involving for it a titanic force, the heart uses the power of reality itself: the inertia. The weakling and complexed brain wants to compensate for his inferiority by megalomaniac project of being bigger than the world. However, the heart does not intend to have false merits attributed to him. He is satisfied with the recovery of the norm, with it being what it needs to be, with him pressing the key that will revive the splendor of nature.
But his spontaneous humility, his propensity to good faith, have him always in check against the incorrigible ambition of the brain, whose mind never rests. The thought is always extending its filamentous networks, like an automaton, as a slave to his addiction, like a ghost that is always moving behind us, repositioning things his way, back to cover everything with sheets of mist and boredom.
Heart does not seem a rival against such tenacity. The brain thinks and thinks, relentlessly. The heart, however, only lives, but each of his acts constitutes a conscious gesture that seeks the recovery of spontaneity. The heart lets the world be, because he is not more important than the world. And among the things that he lets be, is the brain himself, from whom he always waits to correct himself, learn the lesson, integrate. As the heart is not an obsessive sick, he cannot cover the enormous work that the brain brings into play. His defeat, ultimately, is inevitable.
... Or would be, if he did not have a special, different and ultimate weapon, which ability to spread, to radiate, to grow so contagious and automaticly is even greater than that of hard-working brain’s thinking. This is love: If he wants to prevent the brain from spreading his withered networks all over the Creation, the heart must generate love, trusting that love grows and multiplies; that you only have to feed it; that you can leave everything in his hands; that is infallible.
Love does not require any supervision. All prodigious creative force that he deploys is trustworthy. It is thanks to this virtue that the heart can finally take control. Although particular situations are still going to require some specific attention, the way to avoid the dictatorship of thought is to put the heart in "love mode". Thus love is the ultimate act of humility of the heart; the culminating moment in the deservness of victory, for the infinite generosity expressed in leaving the merit of victory in the hands of the natural automatism of love. Love is the final slap in brain’s gelatinous face: "I could beat you again," heart says, "but nevertheless, I give you love. I do demonstrate that, to beat you, really, I do not need anything, because you're just thinking, and thinking is nothing ".